I was going to post about Art being a “necessary deception”. I was going to raise important questions, and challenge established views. It was going to be stimulating and provocative. But I got distracted.

Oba how is Code? Is he still deceiving women?

killa code

 Look at those sleazy porny eyes of his. That is the face of an illegitimate child factory. That is a man who believes he was put here to make your underage daughter repeatedly pregnant.

That is why I believe Moli when she says they didn’t have sex. If they did have sex, wouldn’t she be nursing his reptilian offspring as we speak?

Where is Moli, anyway? I miss her. I do. I, as the media, was heavily invested in the hope of a future of white-hot superstardom for her.

I live off celebrity puff-pieces so the more celebrities, the better. The Hype Machine a.k.a. Showbiz Media a.k.a. Consensus of Lies is a vampire, and it wanted to feed off Moli corpuscles.

Ah, the headlines we missed out on. How I would have loved to spray these: “Moli to Release Alt-Rock Album”, “Moli Launches Emo Fashion Line For Fat People”, “Moli To Star As Crazy Drug Addict Bitch in Nollywood Flick” and “Moli To Stand for Kawempe South Seat. On FDC Ticket, Naturally” across your newspapers.

Well, she did make Time Magazine. Take your nugu and choke on it!

Morgan Tsvi is absolutely NOT the biggest coward in Africa, in unrelated news. The fact is Zimbabwe needs a superhuman hero to save her: a titan. For who can take on a super-villain but a superhero? And who can blame a chap for not being that superhero? How can you hold it against a man that he is just an ordinary mortal after all? That is not the point right now. We rant about Mugabe on other people’s blogs (Like Carlo  and “27th Apologist). This is what I wanted you to see.

This is Rubi Tsvi. She could have been the Zim Kaine. First daughter. Adjust your opinion on the issue now.


I am sick of Beyonce


It is nothing personal, but are there no other superstars I can objectify by placing them on my computer desktop to look silently nice and smiley while I work?

Somebody needs to come up with a new person.

Yes, they “come up with” them. They are fabricated. Created. By forces outside of them. What you see here is not an actual human being—it is a work of fiction created through the collaboration of make-up artists, hair stylists, fitness trainers, publicists, computer graphics specialists, showbiz media, agents, managers and a little effort from a little Texan woman called Beyonce Giselle Knowles-Carter. A little effort. For the most part all she does is sit there and be subjected to transformation into an object.

ready for jelly


CBS FM eulogised Dr Sulaiman Kiggundu by plaing Candle In The Wind 98 in the background.
After speaking a bit on the life of the former banker, the presenter would rest and let Dame Elton sing. Then they would repeat. In the time it took me to get from Kyaliwajjala to work, I had heard the song no less than three and a half times.
It is, you will agree, slightly less than suitable a send off. England’s Rose?

It is times like this that we remember how important it is to leave no detail untouched when you write your will.

For the record then, when I die (or rather if I die. It has never been in the plan) let no one even think of playing any of the following next to my name.

Elton John
Celine Dion
Bob Marley
Puff Daddy
I do not like their music. Only play it if you want me to come back.

Hey, play This (t’s Tupac: Life Goes On) instead. Yeah. Sweet. 


(Pouring some liquor for The Old Fox)



Forward on. On forward.

I imagine he is someone fat who likes button-down shirts and khaki pants. He probably wears a tie that hangs above his belly button and keeps his phone in a pouch strapped to his belt. I think he has a Katorchi and drives a blue-ish green Corolla. He probably keeps his hair short, has wobbly cheeks, laughs at his own jokes and suffers from egg-breath. Unfortunately I don’t know the guy at all, so the most I can do is imagine.

I have no idea who he is. But he sends me email forwards every single day.

I can understand the sentiment behind sending email forwards: People want to stay in touch with friends but are too busy or creatively bankrupt to craft individually-tailored messages. So they just bung all the names into one send string, stick on a jpeg of a fluffy bunny, attach and a bible verse and ship it off with all their love. I can understand the sentiment.

But the thing is, I don’t know this guy.

Who is he and why is he trying to stay in touch with me?

And more importantly, why every single day? 

He obviously doesn’t know me either. The people who know me don’t send me forwards. The reasons for this are clear to anyone who, sorry to belabour the point, actually knows me.

One is that I am an old hand at this. I have seen everything already. I dance the internet, as you can see above. I am the sort of insufferable bastard who will send you a snopes link debunking ever ludicrous emergency message you send. Forward to eighteen thousand people and Microsoft will donate a pony to little orphan girls in Afghanistan? I will snub my e-nose haughtily at you and put you in your place with one line:


Send this to everyone in your country and your computer will develop the capacity of flight?


God killed John Lenon because of a silly wisecrack and then sent tsunamis to drown Indonesians?

Furthermore, I can’t stand those “inspirational stories.”
I detest the fluffy, pink, tutu-wearing, spangly-eared, so-saccharine-it’s-sickening sentimentality of those gooey forward messages about the old lady who had only four dollars left and then the stranger turned out to be an angel in the end and the sheep also did something and blah. I hate them so much every time I get one, I have to rewrite it to include some ninja decapitations and cannibalism. Just to restore the balance of sanity.

Plus: Dude sends the forwards with the subject line written badly. With the word good spelt as “gud”, for example.
Now, part of my work here in the Belly of The Beast Inc, involves copy-editing —  I am a professional corrector of spelling mistakes. Knowing this, how could anyone possibly send me deliberately miswritten words to read in my spare time? Who is this person?
I realise I am beginning to sound crabby. I am not that angry. Well, I am a little bit vastly irritated, but that is not because I bear any ill will whatsoever towards the chap sending me these things. It is only because I keep getting fucking lime-green bunny rabbits in my inbox!

And bulldogs wearing fucking pink wool socks!


When I would rather have the following:

  • The R. Kelly video in wmv format. I want to see for myself.
  • Some good music. Not shite, good music. Dizzy Gillespie. Send me Dizzy.
  • Size 1024 x768 photos of cool stuff. That is the size of my screen and I would like to use said photos as desktop wallpaper. I am bored of Beyonce and Rihanna and the Hulk and Iron Man. I want fresh wallpaper.
  • And links to stimulating and entertaining pages I can dance on the web. Like Ken Lee. Heh heh. I liked Ken Lee.

I know what you are thinking. You are thinking: “Baz, see that little button in the corner with the letters D.E.L.E.T. and E on it?”

Yes, I know. But it is not that I don’t want to delete the emails, it is that I want them to stop coming.

Should I reply one, asking the chap to cut it the hell out for crying out loud dammit before I am forced to hunt him down with my gangos from the hood? Or should I be more circumspect?

I was thinking of something like:


Please stop sending me email forwards. Some of them are way gay. Thank you in advance.

Or do you think:


What the hell did I ever do to you?  Is this revenge for something? Saggy, is that you emailing under a false name?

  Is better?

Let me think.

You’re gonna love her

Jenny Hudson

Here is some great news for music lovers. No, not the gruesome death of Sean “Fucking” Kingston by a severe and protracted mauling delivered by a voracious pack of rabid wolves, better than that.

Jennifer Hudson’s album has a release date.

What about!!! Three exclamation marks!

I’m listening to streams off myspace.com/jenniferhudson. They put some music up to promote the first single off the Jenny (yeah. We are that tight. Jenny it is) album.

It is  called Spotlight, and is mellow-ish mid-tempo and not too beat-y, so it will get the undiscerning groundlings to nod their little empty heads while not overshadowing her actual vocals, which are, ultimately, the point of a Jenny Hudson performance.

The other joints her myspace showcases are ballads. And this is as it should be.
Stand Up puts that powerful thoat (in African American they don’t pronounce it “throat”. They say “Thoat”. At least according to this dude on Def Comedy Jam. They also say fitty instead of fifty and hunnid instead of hundred, hurr instead of hair, and aks instead of ask. Etc.) to appropriately soulful use. I tell you, you can switch straight from Aretha and Gladys Knight to this song without even feeling the seam as you transition.

I was actually thinking of Gidda (Gladys Knight and I are also tight) when we moved to the third song on the myspace playlist. Neither One Of Us. Yes the cover. If this is the sort of thing she was doing during her shot on American Idols, I wish they had told me. I could have got a telesaver card and voted. Many many times.

Speaking of which. What the fuck is going on? Cynthia is still in Idols?

We are on another song now. Starts with some dude talking. I could google and find out who he is, but I don’t want to spoil my stream. Sounds like Usher. But I hope it isn’t him, because I stopped liking Usher after he dissed Chilli. And that song of his, I Want To Have Sex In This Club, is just profane.

Heh heh. She said “I cayin’t” instead of I Cant. This African American English is very amusing.

Okay. I couldn’t take the suspense and googled after the song buffered sufficiently. Only to realise, to my utter shock and dismay that it was Ne-Yo.
And that this song is actually on his album.

Which sucks because I had been having so much fun hating on Ne-Yo.
OOOOOOooooooOOooOoOOOOOothesoundsofsuddenonsetofparoxysmsofJOY!!! Because the next song is And I’m Telling You.

This song makes me want to crawl under me desk and curl up and weep until a puddle so large develops on the floor that it causes the wiring to short circuit.

In other words, it is just one of the best vocal performances I have heard since Whitney went and got high. My goodness this reduces me to such tears. I am a quivering mass of gooseflesh now. Oh. My.

Okay. If you are in America where they say Thoat and Cayint, please call your local radio station and request Spotlight. We must make this a hit and ensure that the album does drop in September as opposed to it being put on Katebe.

And if you are in the real world (eg Uganda) please find someone you know who lives in America and tell them to call and request it.

And then when it drops I will buy a copy (this is too good to bootleg) and lend you some.


Suruma’s 2008 Budget Raises One Important Question

A sustained rise in fuel and food prices has pushed the national inflation rate to eleven point six this year which, while not an emergency in real fiscal terms, nevertheless warrants some concern. It seems Suruma’s budget has made addressing inflation a priority, from my analysis.

For example, unlike the previous budget, (2007) which was evidently aimed at inspiring consumer spending, with the view of increasing internal commercial activity through various fiscal as well as non-fiscal incentives aimed not only at foreign investors but at local small-scale businesses as well, this 2008 budget is going in the opposite direction. For example, by acting on interest rates, it looks like Suruma is trying to encourage an increase in aggregate savings. In an effort to offset inflationary pressures by withdrawing money from circulation, perhaps?

If successful, this will protect the economic gains of the  past few years, while simultaneously consolidating the future, so the only question we need to ask ourselves at here is, at exactly what point did you realise that I was bullshitting through this post?

Who did I think I was fooling.

Anyway, here is what I was really going to blog: Some of you, those with nice jobs that entail computer usage (or nice schools. Or nice homes. Or just nice cafes in the neighbourhood. Whichever) may have come across the Internet legend that has come to be known as Ken Lee.

If you had not met Ken Lee, meet Ken Lee now, by clicking the word below.

Har har! It is a hilarious rendition of a Mariah Carey song by an auditioner in the Bulgarian version of Idols! How hilarious was this song by one Natalia Hassan according to Wikipedia!

You would think that nothing worse could possibly be done to the song after that, but you would, of course be wrong. Christine’s link, please step forward.

Hi. hHi. I’m Christine’s link. Click on me a little bit, please. You will be astounded by what you see me do! I swear. Click.